


prompt fills + twitter threads

by magisterpavus



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Dragon Keith (Voltron), F/M, Fluff and Crack, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Prompt Fill, Size Kink, there's a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-07-14 03:16:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16031867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magisterpavus/pseuds/magisterpavus
Summary: a compilation of prompt fills/twitter threads from my tumblr & twitter, @saltyshiro.1. shiro & keith are trees2. a/b/o sheith + edging/overstim (nsfw)3. allurance strip club au4. tree au nsfw5. ancient mountain guardian shiro + humble knight keith6. dragon keith admires knight shiro like the treasure he is7. dark fantasy/Yōkai AU





	1. shiro & keith are trees

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first of my [tumblr](http://saltyshiro.tumblr.com/) prompt fills, please check out the art that inspired this AU~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Sheith, meeting of the two tree creatures from [this art](https://nevenne-creates.tumblr.com/post/178091233400/i-see-your-mermaid-aus-and-i-raise-you-a-tree)
>
>> _Who are you?_ the stranger rasps, his tone pleading.
>> 
>> _My name is Keith; I am a desert willow,_ Keith tells him. _Who are you?_

Beside his oasis, the world is still and serene, the hot summer wind ruffling through his leaves and limbs like a familiar caress. The monsoons have been generous this year, and Keith is in full bloom, dark pink flowers crowning his head and continuing just below his pointed ears. His thick, dark bark was made to withstand this heat; though many willows are frail things dependent on the water, Keith is an exception, a desert willow. He is not even a true willow, though his slender, spear-shaped leaves are good imitators.

He’s distracted by a soft whir of wings beside his ear, and turns his head slightly to see the ruby-throated hummingbird sipping from his blooms. _Hello,_ he says, though of course only other tree spirits can hear him. The hummingbird hovers for a few moments in front of his face, cocking its emerald head at Keith’s amused violet eyes, then darts away as quickly as it had come.

He follows its path across the desert, and pauses, squinting into the distance through the rippling heat waves and tall saguaros. There’s something out there that wasn’t there before; Keith is sure of it. It moves again, and he starts forward, sending ripples through the oasis’s dark water. There, a hint of white and gold. Keith frowns. _Hello?_ he calls, but it’s too far away to hear him, if it’s even able to do so.

Cautiously, Keith gathers up some water with his roots, avoiding the spadefoot tadpoles swimming nearby, and begins his slow trek towards the bright smudge amidst the sagebrush and red dust. He’s faster than most trees, but one must still be careful in the desert. A rattlesnake winds past him through the warm rocks, hissing in soft warning. Keith gives it a wide berth, and at length passes by one of his closest neighbors, a young palo verde named Pidge.

She peeks at him through her tiny oval leaves and pollen-laden yellow flowers, hazel eyes curious. Her pale green bark glows with health; Keith lets her drink from his oasis when the rains don’t come.

 _What’s out there?_ Keith asks her, pointing with a smooth brown finger.

She shakes her head, prompting a shower of pollen that makes Keith sneeze. Her expression is frightened. _Strange spirits,_ she whispers. _Not trees. Shadows. Left him here last night. I hid._

 _Him?_ Keith questions, glancing again towards the unmoving heap of white and gold.

Pidge nods. _Be careful,_ she warns. _Tried to call out to him earlier; he pushed me out of his mind. He is scared. So scared. He is not from here._

 _Then he will die in this sun,_ Keith says. _Stay here. I will help him._

She nods, hiding again amidst her thorny branches.

Keith continues onwards, warding off a hopeful swarm of bees along the way, though he’s flattered by their interest. He pauses once he is close, crouching behind a large boulder and peeking around the side to assess the situation.

Keith freezes at the sight before him – the strange tree spirit is crumpled in the dirt, his skin pale as moonlight, but torn away in places, revealing darker bark beneath. His leaves are a magnificent gold, like the first hint of sunlight over the horizon at dawn, but they must have been cut away in places, for they grow only sparsely at the top of his head and in a small fall over his brow. His ears droop, and his dark golden eyes are half-lidded and hazy. The bark over the bridge of his nose has been torn away in a thick stripe of scar tissue, so deep it cuts into his sapwood.

But most shocking of all is that one of his arms has been chopped clean off, the wound coated with drying silvery sap – it must have been recently inflicted. Keith’s branches rustle uneasily. What cruel being would do this to a tree spirit? Especially to one as lovely as this?

Keith has never seen a tree spirit like this one before, and he is wary of hidden thorns or poisons, so he steps out of his hiding place warily, hands extended in a gesture of goodwill. The stranger flinches away when their gazes meet, trying to lift himself up on his remaining arm and trembling with the effort, his clawed hand scrabbling uselessly in the dirt, tearing more of his fragile white outer bark away.

 _Stop!_ Keith exclaims in alarm, starting forward. _You’ll hurt yourself!_

The stranger stares at him dully, chest heaving, legs and roots tucked close to his body in a way that only makes him appear more vulnerable. He feels the stranger trying to shut Keith out of his head, but Keith nudges back, gentle yet firm. The stranger’s golden head bows in surrender, shoulders hunching and body curling back down to the earth. A single word echoes through Keith’s head: _Please._

Keith kneels down in front of the stranger. _It is alright,_ he soothes, letting his soft leaves brush against the ruined bark. _I am here to help._

Golden eyes meet his gaze hesitantly. _Help?_ The stranger’s voice shakes badly, like he has forgotten how to use it.

Keith nods. _It is too hot for you out here,_ he explains. _You need water, and shade._

The stranger lowers his head, silent again, but does not protest when Keith heaves him upright, trunk straining at the effort. The stranger may look delicate, but he must be an old tree, for he is solid and heavy, and would not have survived so long in the desert sun if he were a weak sapling.

Keith falters when the stranger’s head slumps into his shoulder, rustling against his leaves and crushing a few flowers. In the desert, tree spirits are far more solitary; Keith is hardly ever so close to another of his kind. This spirit must be from a forest, he concludes, a place where tree spirits live together in tight-knit families. Keith shoves his foolish pang of longing aside, and wraps his arm around the stranger’s trunk, guiding him back to the oasis.

He staggers forward as Keith guides him, shriveled roots dragging uselessly along the ground behind him. His thin, papery bark rustles and crumples off where Keith’s rougher bark brushes against it, but it doesn’t appear to harm the stranger. Or perhaps he is just so hurt already that he is numb to the additional pain. Keith frowns, and presses onward with newfound determination.

Halfway to Pidge, the stranger crumples forwards, and Keith has to employ all his branches to catch him, guiding him gently down before he can break any more limbs off. _Easy,_ Keith cautions, kneeling beside him with a hand on his uninjured shoulder. _It isn’t far._

 _Who are you?_ the stranger rasps, his tone pleading.

 _My name is Keith; I am a desert willow,_ Keith tells him. _Who are you?_

His brow furrows. _Shiro,_ he whispers. _White birch._

 _Ah,_ Keith says. He thinks he’s heard of those trees before, but they live far, far away from the desert. _You are from the highlands?_ Shiro nods, his eyelids drooping, and Keith leans closer in concern. _Here,_ he adds, and lifts a root heavy with stored water to Shiro’s dry lips.

The birch opens his eyes, confusion shifting to shock as he sees the precious droplets offered to him. _How…?_

 _Drink,_ Keith says. _There is more, do not worry. You need it more than I._

So Shiro drinks, his own roots lifting to catch the moisture his tongue cannot. He is not meant to store water for many months on end like Keith can, but his leaves perk up at once, and his eyes are clearer than before when they open again. _Thank you,_ he says, and goes easily when Keith helps him up again.

Shiro blinks curiously at Pidge as they pass, and the palo verde gives them a shy wave before retreating inwards again. Shiro wilts. _I scare her,_ he mumbles. _I think she tried to call to me, before...but I shoved her away._

 _Shh,_ Keith says, leading him on past a towering saguaro, which the birch stares at with unadulterated awe. _You have been through much. She understands._

 _Are these trees?_ Shiro asks, still gaping at the saguaros. The tall cacti are blooming, too, but during the heat of the day most their flowers are tightly shut. A few brave blooms remain, as bright white and gold as Shiro.

 _No,_ Keith says. _They do not speak to us, not with words. Feelings, sometimes. They tell us when the rains are near._

 _Oh,_ Shiro breathes, and looks down. _They must be very old._

 _Yes,_ Keith says. _It can take a century before they grow a single arm._

The saguaro Shiro was admiring has six arms, and the birch blanches, eyes huge. _I...see._

They continue on, and Keith can feel Shiro’s eyes on him. _How old are you, willow?_

Keith frowns. _You would think me young, but my kind do not live long._

Shiro frowns back. _My kind do not live long, either. Try me._

 _It has been fifty years,_ Keith sighs, _at last count._

_And how long do desert willows live?_

_Fifty years,_ Keith says dryly. _Usually._

Shiro stumbles. Keith helps him back up. _So young,_ Shiro whispers.

 _This is a harsh place to live,_ Keith says. _I am lucky to have my oasis. It may keep me alive for fifty years more._

 _How does anyone survive here?_ Shiro asks, and Keith bristles. _It is just – so barren. And vast. And lonely...I was sure I would die._

 _Whoever left you here thought the same,_ Keith says, and Shiro stiffens, and is quiet again.

They pass under the slender shadow of a saguaro with two arms, and Shiro says, _I am seventy, at last count. About halfway through life, also. But I could be older...I feel older. There are gaps in my memory._

 _Why did they hurt you?_ Keith asks.

Shiro only shakes his head.

Keith’s oasis comes into view and the birch sighs in relief. _Is it real?_ he whispers. _Not just a desert mirage?_ He eyes Keith. _Are_ you _a desert mirage?_

 _Willow,_ Keith corrects with a snort, leading him to the muddy bank. _And, no. Both me and my oasis are quite real. Lucky for you._

 _Very lucky,_ Shiro whispers, falling to his knees before the shallow water. Still, he pauses, looking to Keith for permission. _May I?_

Keith sits down beside him, amused and more than a little endeared. _Be my guest._

Shiro’s roots burrow contentedly into the mud, searching out the fresh water, and Shiro bows his head as its strength flows through him. Keith stands over him while he does, extending his branches and leaves to provide the birch with as much shade as he can, and Shiro looks up with wide eyes.

Keith jolts in surprise at the flush on the birch’s cheeks, and a pink flower falls from Keith’s head to land squarely on the birch’s nose. Shiro looks at it, cross-eyed, then plucks it from his face and studies the trumpet-shaped blossom. _Pretty,_ he says, and Keith flushes, too. _Thanks for the shade,_ Shiro adds, and tucks Keith’s flower behind his ear.

Keith stares at him helplessly. _You are a very strange tree,_ he says.

 _So are you,_ Shiro chuckles. Keith wants to make him laugh more. _But a kind one, too._

Keith clears his throat. _Is the water to your liking?_

 _Yes, it’s perfect,_ Shiro says. He leans forward. _Oh! There are little...fish in here._

 _Tadpoles,_ Keith corrects. _A few fish, too. Trout come when the rains connect my oasis to the creek._ And then, because he feels the need to defend his desert, he adds, _This place may seem barren to outsiders, but it is full of life. Many creatures come to my oasis. Javelinas, with sharp tusks and pink snouts, and coyotes, with fur the color of sand, and bighorn sheep, with great curved horns, and tortoises, with their domed shells, and bobcats, with bright eyes and dark spots, and quail, with their soft calls and feathers, and ringtails, with their striped tails and spectacled eyes, and mountain lions, who drink beside me in the early hours of the morning, and sleep in my shade without fear._

Shiro stares up at him with wonder.

Keith, embarrassed, turns away. _I apologize,_ he says. _I do not meet new trees often. You must meet many, in your forest._

Shiro settles into a more comfortable sitting position. _Birches grow together, in stands of hundreds,_ he says. _There were many like me, yes. But none like you._

 _Oh,_ Keith says. He doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

 _I know very little about the desert,_ Shiro says earnestly. The water has invigorated him, and Keith can see his wounded stump scabbing over with fresh black bark. _But I have heard the sunsets are beautiful._

 _They are,_ Keith says, and sits down shyly beside him, taking care to keep his shade cast over Shiro’s pale form. _Would...would you like to watch the sunset with me?_

 _I would,_ Shiro says. _May I rest here with you, until then?_

Keith leans into him in reply, their leaves mingling, and Shiro sighs as he drifts off.

The oasis is quiet as they wait in stillness, the cool oasis staving off the heat of late afternoon. By the time the scattered clouds begin to stain pink, Shiro’s bark is healed and his eyes are warm, reflecting the sun. _It’s beginning,_ he whispers in excitement.

 _Yes,_ Keith says. Shiro’s branches are entwined with his own, and he never wants to let go.

The sky darkens and streaks through with orange and red and pink and faded blue, the rays of sunshine blinding them for a moment before it kisses the ridged line of the distant mountains, painting the world in rich golden tones. Keith has seen thousands of sunsets, but he has never seen Shiro see a sunset, so he watches him instead.

The birch appears to glow in the dying light, his lips parted and eyes wide. _It’s beautiful,_ he says wistfully. _We could barely see the sky in the forest. Not like this. There’s...so much._

 _Wait until you see the stars,_ Keith murmurs.

Shiro smiles shyly at him. _May I stay to see the dawn, too?_

 _As many dawns as you’d like,_ Keith promises.

Shiro sighs, and Keith’s lashes flutter when a golden leaf brushes against his cheek. _As long as I get to see them with you,_ Shiro whispers, and reaches out, laying his hand gently over Keith’s.

Their fingers clasp, silver-white and red-brown, and the sun sinks slowly below the horizon.


	2. a/b/o sheith + edging/overstim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2\. Omegaverse Sheith? Maybe Alpha Shiro and Omega Keith in heat? Shiro claims Keith while he's at it and it ends in good fluff love? + Sheith and overstimulation / edging ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
>
>> Shiro makes it a rule to never be cruel...except when Keith’s in the throes of his heat and desperately wants, no, _needs_ to come, and Shiro won’t let him.

Shiro makes it a rule to never be cruel...except when Keith’s in the throes of his heat and desperately wants, no,  _ needs _ to come, and Shiro won’t let him.

He’s allowed to be a  _ little _ mean, he thinks, crouched over Keith with the intent, coiled power of a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Under him, Keith is sprawled across the filthy sheets, legs spread wide and lean muscle thrown into delicious definition which Shiro traces with his swollen lips and greedy tongue. Keith’s whimper reverberates through both of their bodies, and Shiro chuckles in reply. 

“Something wrong?” he asks, all smiles and innocence even as his Galra hand drags warm metal fingers down Keith’s taut stomach, scratching through coarse black hair and lower, skirting his leaking cock and rubbing soothing circles onto his bruised inner thighs. Keith’s body heaves, dazed eyes rolling back in his head when Shiro’s fingers slide inwards, opening him up again; Shiro’s lost track. His only concept of time is the layers of slickness ruining the sheets between Keith’s legs, and the insistent weight of his own cock against his thigh. 

Shiro loves to tease Keith when he’s like this, but it’s a double edged sword. The more he tortures Keith, the more he tortures himself. Idly, he wonders if most alphas would be able to resist the heady citrus-sweet scent of an omega’s heat for as long as he has. And not just any omega, their own beloved mate. At the thought, Shiro leans down, and Keith keens, high and hopeful, only to moan and squirm frantically as Shiro’s mouth covers the old mark on his neck, sucking and kissing over it until a bruise blooms and Keith comes again, twitching and clawing at the sheets, tears dribbling down his flushed cheeks.

“Shhh,” Shiro whispers, kissing the tears away, working his fingers deeper inside, until Keith is grinding up against four knuckles, feet braced on the bed shamelessly, head lolling. Not for the first time that night, the thought occurs to him that it would be much easier for both of them if he just fucked Keith into incoherence, knotted him just like they both want, and his cock throbs in agreement. 

But where would be the fun in that?

Besides, Keith likes this. He likes letting Shiro bring him to the very edge of what he can take, and Shiro loves knowing that Keith trusts him to do so. Maybe some of his soft thoughts translate in his expression because, as if sensing a weakness, Keith shifts provocatively under him, lips parting in a low, entreating coo that Shiro feels in his very  _ soul. _ “Please,” Keith breathes, and the word is barely a word, blurred with the husky rasp of arousal and desperation. “Please, Shiro, alpha, need you, know you need it too,  _ now –” _

At his whining tone, Shiro bristles, and Keith sucks in a sharp, startled breath when Shiro’s lips pull back from his teeth, growl rising in his throat. “You don’t get to decide when I fuck you,” Shiro reminds him, lifting up on his hands until he looms over Keith, the scent of his omega’s desire multiplying exponentially as he does so. Shiro resists the urge to laugh; Keith is too predictable when he’s like this. Still, Shiro won’t deny he likes to play it up. They both do.

Keith licks his bitten lips. “Then how can I persuade you?” he asks breathily, arching his neck as he does so, giving Shiro an eyeful of his mark and all the other marks Shiro has left on him, temporary but permanent enough to satisfy the possessive urge curling low and hot in Shiro’s gut. 

Shiro growls again, and witnesses Keith’s entire body shudder, cock hardening anew at the sound. “You can be good, for starters,” Shiro mutters, nosing along Keith’s jaw, breathing him in. “Can you do that for me?”

“But I  _ have _ been good,” Keith complains, and chokes on his words when Shiro’s wet cock rubs over his, slow friction combined with the hard stroke of Shiro’s fingers inside him, and then, to Keith’s obvious horror and delight, relentless vibrations. Keith cries out, hips bucking and mouth falling open; his few moments of lucidity are over. Shiro works his thrumming fingers in and out of Keith thoughtfully, marveling at how easy it is to make Keith lose himself to pleasure. 

Shiro doubts he will ever understand exactly how Keith came to be his. When they first met so many years ago, Shiro was continuously bewildered yet hopelessly endeared to the prickly omega. And since then, these feelings towards Keith have only grown. Time and time again, Keith has saved and supported him, and done so with an unfailing loyalty and devotion that Shiro often feels undeserving of. But whatever Keith’s reasons, Shiro was the one he chose. And for Shiro, it was never even a question. He’s wanted Keith for so long it hurts. 

Keith comes on his fingers with a strangled shout, eyes wide and unseeing, and Shiro kisses him, finally allowing himself to let go. Keith sunders to him in seconds, moaning into Shiro’s mouth as Shiro’s fingers withdraw, he yanks Keith’s flexing thighs around his waist, and shoves into him in a single vicious thrust. Keith sobs. Shiro groans, lashes fluttering and hips stuttering as he tries to let Keith adjust, but he needn’t have bothered. Keith is already clawing at his back, dragging Shiro down, forcing him deeper, and when Shiro bottoms out Keith’s heels are kicking into his back and he already feels too close to the point of no return.

“Takashi,” Keith gasps, catching his gaze, pupils dilated and scleras shining with a hint of gold that sends a tremor through Shiro, “Takashi,  _ fuck, _ I love you –”

_ “Yeah,” _ Shiro grunts, because it’s all he can say when Keith is so tight and slick and wanting around him, making no effort to hide every expression of his pleasure as he clings closer to Shiro, “yeah,  _ Keith –” _

“Fuck me,” Keith says into his shoulder, face buried in hard muscle and scar tissue, “I want –”

Shiro fucks him hard, fast and merciless because they’ve both been waiting long enough, and Keith takes it, incredible being that he is, swearing and writhing and coming with a ragged scream when Shiro gets a hand between them and covers Keith’s aching cock with his buzzing hand. 

Keith tightens impossibly further and Shiro’s knot swells, catching on Keith’s pulsing hole and plunging inside as Shiro snarls and comes, plugging him up with what Keith has been pleading for since they woke up that morning. A little leaks out and Keith moans happily when Shiro gathers it up on his fingers and lifts them to Keith’s waiting mouth. His omega licks them clean, and Shiro tastes himself when he kisses him gently after. 

Locked together in the lazy afterglow, Keith sighs, harsh and frantic grip on Shiro becoming something loose and sweet. Shiro nuzzles into his neck, where his scent fills Shiro’s senses and sparks every protective and loving instinct towards Keith he has, which turns out to be pretty much every single one. Keith hums, doing the same to Shiro, breath warm on sweat-soaked skin.

“Love you too,” Shiro mumbles, petting Keith’s hair and shifting atop him until Keith purrs, hips arching up in a promise of more to come. “In case that wasn’t clear.”

Keith snorts, swatting lightly at him. “You were so subtle,” he says, “couldn’t tell.”

“Mm,” Shiro chuckles, leaving small soft kisses over his cheeks that make Keith squawk and giggle, “I do, though. I really, really do.”

“Good,” Keith rumbles, his eyes bright and lips quirked, “because you’re stuck with me.” His eyes drift down and his brows lift. “Literally.”

Shiro’s ugly laughter echoes through the entire Castle.


	3. allurance strip club au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3\. SOMEBODY'S A POLE DANCER AU. I DON'T CARE WHO JUST MAKE IT VOLTRON. (the poledancer is lance & allura owns the club)
>
>> It’s no secret that Lance loves being the center of attention.
>> 
>> But, while the hungry eyes of the club’s patrons around him are intoxicating, when it comes down to it, none of them matter to him. Not like she does. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love allurance sm guys

It’s no secret that Lance loves being the center of attention.

But, while the hungry eyes of the club’s patrons around him are intoxicating, when it comes down to it, none of them matter to him. Not like she does. 

Lance grips the pole with practiced hands and heaves himself upwards, wrapping one leg around the warm metal and loosening his fingers, sending his upper body into a devastating curve backwards, lean abdomen flexing as he holds himself up without ever letting his fingertips touch the pole. The glittering scarves laced tightly across his back catch the colorful strobes in brilliant bursts of sequined light, and as the bass drops Lance does too, spinning around the base of the pole in a single elegant movement before he reaches the floor. His lips curve in a lazy smirk as hands reach out, eagerly stuffing bills under the tight waistband of his tighter thong. 

He swats away a few hands that reach too far, and feels the heat of her gaze intensify, blue eyes narrowing to a warning glare. Something tells him that patron won’t be coming back anytime soon. Lance doesn’t care much one way or the other, but he likes it when she’s riled up. So he struts across the small stage, rolling his hips to the pounding beat of the music as cheers and bills fill the air, rewarding his audience for their attentiveness by edging his thong down just enough to reveal the neatly trimmed patch of dark hair below, scratching manicured fingernails through it before withdrawing with a grin, and returning to the pole.

The next song passes in a series of daring drops and dangerous twirls, one of which throws his hip out a little too much. He recovers fast, but knows she saw it, and can hear her words in his head, Be careful. It won’t matter how hot you were when you have a broken arm. She puts on a tough front; she has to, to own this place. Underneath, though...Lance knows better. She’s always sweet with him, even when she isn’t. 

When the music ends, Lance gives a dramatic bow, slipping off the stage and through the crowd, who is already distracted with the next dancer. 

She tugs him in with a firm hand, eyeing him over the salted rim of her martini glass. “You’re getting better,” she says after a moment, and takes a sip.

“Just ‘better?’” Lance drawls, leaning in closer, until he can smell the dark floral bloom of her perfume. “Not ‘the best?’”

She scoffs and sets down her glass on the bar. “Cocky tonight, are we? All the attention going to your head?”

“You know it always does, princess,” Lance murmurs, and cautiously straddles her lap. She doesn’t stop him. Her bright eyes are half-lidded, glossy lips parted in faint curiosity. It’s an incredible victory when her hand settles over his ass, acrylic nails pressing into flexing muscle just so. 

“You were very good,” Allura says, and he swears he sees her flush as he grinds down, then reaches out to run his fingers daringly through a few loose strands of silky silver-white hair. “Someday, you may even be the best.”

Lance brushes a kiss over her lips, letting lipstick stain his mouth in a smear of messy magenta. Her eyes burn, and her hand tightens. “Practice makes perfect, princess.”

“Then I suppose,” Allura whispers, her apathy replaced all at once by desire, “we’d better get practicing.”


	4. tree au nsfw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Sheith, tree au sex
>
>> shiro teaches keith a few nice things

The white birch shifts shyly closer, and Keith is startled to see he has grown much since they first met – since they traveled north together to the valley, he has filled out, and towers over Keith, though always with gently-swaying branches and his soft, small smile. Now, though, the smile is strained. Keith makes a questioning sound in the familiar pool of their joined minds.  _ What is wrong? _

_ Nothing is wrong,  _ Shiro replies, but his head bows, and his leaves shiver. 

_ Tell me,  _ Keith insists, pressing a little closer, until their roots tangle and Shiro shudders, hard, his eyes wide and dazed when he looks up at Keith. Keith has never been so close to another tree spirit before, and shrinks back, realizing this must be some terrible breach of decorum when he sees Shiro’s shocked expression.  _ I’m sorry,  _ Keith says, branches drooping, curling closer to his trunk,  _ I was only worried. _

But Shiro says,  _ Keith, _ and creeps closer, and then, to Keith’s bewilderment, his roots begin to wrap around Keith’s, sending sudden warm tingling through him. Keith stands very still, trembling at the strange new feeling, and nearly topples over when Shiro slowly leans in and presses his soft lips over Keith’s mouth.

Keith gasps, and then, all at once, Shiro is pressed all up along his front, papery-white bark sliding against his rougher brown-black, and it _feels,_ _oh,_ Keith can only clutch at Shiro and try to get him closer, dragging him in with his branches, his roots, his leaves, wherever he can reach. 

In the cool quiet of the valley glen they are alone, safe in their togetherness, and Shiro whispers,  _ Can I,  _ and Keith says,  _ Yes, _ though he does not know what Shiro is asking, and then thicker roots wrap around his middle, anchoring them together, dipping slick and sweet into Keith’s mouth when Shiro pulls away. Keith sucks as the root fills his mouth, lashes fluttering shut, and leans hard into Shiro’s chest. 

Shiro’s sap is warm honey on his tongue, dripping down his throat and pooling hot and welcome in his belly, and Keith lets out a sound that makes Shiro buck under him, and makes the sound again, louder, when Shiro grasps at the newest and most tender of his roots and rubs them between smooth fingertips. Keith prickles with the pleasure of it, flowers opening and head falling back. Shiro drags kisses over his throat, and Keith writhes against him, breathless and delighted. 

_ What is this,  _ Keith asks, and Shiro falters, lifting his head with confused golden eyes.

_ You have never…?  _

_ I was alone; I had no grove of hundreds to keep me company,  _ Keith retorts, and Shiro rolls him down onto the earth, and Keith would let no one else make him so vulnerable, felled and helpless on the ground; no one but Shiro.  _ It’s only you,  _ Keith adds, and Shiro moves atop him, a sinuous twist which captures every one of Keith’s roots in Shiro’s, interwoven tight and yet so tender, and Keith cries out at the touches, everywhere, so many all at once, echoing eerie and hollow through the air. 

_ Not anymore, _ Shiro promises, and kisses the quivering line of his throat, the heaving length of his chest, the soft open petals of his flowers, the wet tips of his dazedly swaying roots.  _ Not alone anymore. Mine. _

_ Yours, yours, _ Keith pleads, and weaves his fingers into Shiro’s leaves, tugging him in for a messy kiss,  _ yes, _ it is called a  _ kiss,  _ and it is his new favorite word, and Keith never wants to it end.


	5. ancient mountain guardian shiro + humble knight keith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a compilation of that longass thread from [my twitter](https://twitter.com/saltyshiro/status/1081248565370937345) in which shiro & keith fall in love yet again, this time as AN ANCIENT MOUNTAIN GUARDIAN and A BRAVE KNIGHT TRYING HIS BEST.

Keith was born a commoner, not into nobility. He was trained by his mother to wield a sword and defend their farm against bandits and predators, and quickly became known as the best swordsman in the land. He lent his sword to other farms, and never demanded more than they could pay. 

The kingdom Keith was born in, Altea, was a lush valley overshadowed by a great mountain called The Champion, because no invaders had ever managed to get past it, leaving the kingdom to prosper in peace. Legend told of a guardian atop the peak, who watched over the kingdom and kept it safe. Many prayed to the Champion, wishing for good health and weather, fertile fields, luck, love, happiness. and it seemed, more often than not, that their prayers were answered.

Keith was among them, but his prayers were always simple and utterly selfless. Keith prayed for the sick chicken to get well and lay more eggs, for the horse with the lame leg to feel no pain, for the baby down the lane to laugh more than cry, for his mother to stay strong, for his father to sleep peacefully in death. 

Keith’s father was buried on the mountain, and he visited his grave often. But even as a young boy, he was curious and awed by the place and the legend, so he kept climbing the cool alpine slopes until he came upon a strange vale. The lushness of the vale made Keith’s kingdom look like a desert. Beautiful waterfalls spilled over mossy rocks and fish of every size and shape and color darted through the silver pool below. and beside the pool stood a worn statue of a huge lion.

Keith returned to the vale every chance he got. He couldn’t explain it, but the very air felt welcoming, powerful yet so calming, and when he fell asleep in the verdant grass he always slept deep and dreamless and awoke feeling like a weight had been lifted off his chest.

Once, in the summer of Keith’s seventeenth year, he awoke to see a man in the vale, sitting on a rock beside the falls and gazing at him with eyes like starlight. In an instant, the man vanished into the mist without a trace, but Keith knew what he saw. It  _must_  be the guardian.

Determined to see the being again, Keith made more prayers, more offerings, and returned to the vale in a manner that can only be described as taunting. He was young, impulsive, and had no desire to fight the being, so he decided for a different approach. For, although Keith gave little thought to his appearance, he knew from others’ remarks and actions that he was beautiful, and hoped, fervently, that the guardian might agree and deign to show his (very, very beautiful) face again.

So the next time Keith returned to the vale, he shed his tunic and chainmail, his belt and scabbard, his pauldrons and boots and breeches, and waded into the silver pool clad in nothing but his devotion for the guardian who brought his kingdom such prosperity.

Nothing happened. He stood there in the water feeling silly and shivering, bc the mountain spring was ice-cold, and after a few minutes was forced to conclude he was an idiot and the guardian saw him only as a foolish, bothersome human. Embarrassed and disappointed, he began to wade out...and froze as the water began to warm, steam curling from its surface, enticing Keith back in. Slowly, he returned, and watched with wide, wondering eyes as the water shifted to a soft but vivid sky blue.

Keith settled in the warm pool hesitantly, sighing at the welcome heat, which soothed (and later, he would discover, healed) every ache and pain and bruise from his years of work and service to his kingdom. He did not see the man, but knew the being must have noticed him. 

So Keith kept coming back, and each time, the cool clear pool turned blue and hot for him, and sometimes a fat fish would flop out onto the shore to bring home for supper, or the wildflowers on the banks would burst into bloom, or the falls would roar and tumble a little louder. 

The kingdom flourished and it came to pass when Keith was twenty that the king, a fair and just man named Alfor, entrusted his daughter Allura to Keith’s protection. Many speculated that they would wed, for they got along splendidly, and no prince could compare to Keith’s prowess. But Sir Keith, now officially knighted, had no desire for marriage. He saw Allura as a dear friend, and she him, no more. The truth of it was, though Keith had not seen the man since that first time, his heart was wholly bound and promised to the guardian and their kingdom.

Likewise, Princess Allura was in no hurry to wed, preferring to learn how to lead and command the court. She consulted with Keith on policies to support common folk, and ignored missives from the northern kingdom of Galra’s Prince Lotor. Galra was a fierce and powerful kingdom, but cut off from Altea by the mountain. Alfor was wary of angering their warmongering ruler Zarkon, but the Champion had never failed them before, and he wanted his daughter to be happy and choose herself who would rule beside her.

Keith did not forget to return to the vale despite his increasingly important responsibilities. He brought finer gifts with him — vintage wines, rose bouquets, live birds, polished jewels, anything he could think of. The family cow had twins. Their crops bore more than any year.

But the man did not appear. One day Keith worked up the courage to say, “I know you’re there.” Nothing. He frowned. “My name is Keith.” The trees rustled and the water sighed, and Keith swore he heard,  _I know,_  and then, softer,  _Keith, Keith, Keith._

And Keith realized, absurdly and wonderfully, that the guardian was  _shy,_  and so the only way to catch him was unawares. The next time, Keith pretended to sleep, and in the instant he opened his eyes, he saw the man, as lovely and strange as he remembered, watching him fondly.

Keith sprang to his feet, and the man yelped and fell into the pool. Keith floundered for him, but touched only mist and steam, and threw up his hands in frustration. “Please!” he cried. “I just want to see you; to meet and thank you properly after all these years!”

Out of the corner of his eye, a silvery figure peeked around a tree. Keith held up his hands in surrender. “Don’t run,” he whispered. “What’s your name?” The man blinked at him and the tree he touched began to grow, roots bursting thru the earth, trunk thickening, fruit ripening.

The man plucked the largest, sweetest fruit from the tree and approached slowly, holding it out to Keith with his more human hand. The other hung huge and gnarled and monstrous at his side. Keith took the fruit, holding it in his palms. It was a peach. “Shiro,” the man said. His voice was wind and water and moonlight. He smiled, nervous and gentle, and backed away. “For you,” he murmured, nodding to the fruit, and then to the tree itself, and before Keith could reply, he was gone again, a patch of blue flowers left where he stood.

The flowers were forget-me-nots, and the peach tasted like honey and summertime. Keith stayed in the vale until nightfall, and fell asleep under the peach tree, wreathed in the pool’s steam, cradled by the strong roots, guarded by Shiro in every way.

When he awoke, he was not alone. There was a beast drinking from the pool, a tall chestnut warhorse with golden wings folded at its sides. Awestruck, Keith approached it, hand on his sword, but the winged horse turned to him at once, pressing her warm nose into his palm. Keith named her Red, and when he sat astride her back she leapt into the air, soaring thru the dawn and down from the mountain, back to the kingdom.

Everyone knew Keith had the guardian’s favor, but Red proved it. Word spread, and the northern Galra grew afraid of this unknown power. With Red, Keith could fight for and protect more people than ever. He became a legend in his own right, and by age twenty-five, he commanded and trained an entire company of knights, and taught them all to pray to and respect the Champion, though not quite in the same way Keith did.

With Red, he could also visit the vale more, and visit he did. Shiro was there, and though he always kept his distance and said very little, Keith found such solace in his presence, in his kind gray eyes and the soft fall of his pale fair, like whitewater. And besides, Keith always spoke to him.

Keith told Shiro stories of life below the isolated mountain, and Shiro listened raptly. When he did speak it was to ask questions, of Keith’s farm and village, his childhood, the palace and Princess Allura. He asked Keith of his dreams, his hopes, his fears. Keith told him everything.

But when Keith asked Shiro questions, he evaded, sometimes even disappeared. “What are you?” Keith asked once, and Shiro ducked his head and said, “A relic.” Keith protested, and Shiro said, “A mistake,” then vanished when Keith pressed further.

“You are neither relic nor mistake,” Keith told the stars and falling water. “You are our guardian, a spirit, or else a god.”

Shiro’s ghostly figure appeared in the mist, and shook his head. “I was not created for that purpose,” he said. “And I am far less a god than you, Keith.”

“How can you say such a thing?” Keith demanded, gesturing to the beautiful vale around them. “You made this paradise! I can swing a sword; you can bring life and luck to all!”

Shiro flinched back. “You protect the innocent,” he whispered. “I hurt them. That was my purpose.”

And as Keith watched, Shiro’s delicate silver ghost solidified and grew, towering over Keith, the trees, the waterfall, dark as the mountain stone, eyes glowing like fierce sunlight and teeth sharp as thorns. Keith stumbled back with a cry, reaching instinctively for his sword.

“Go on,” Shiro whispered, voice impossibly soft despite his monstrous form. “Perhaps I should have been slain long ago. It would be an honor to fall by your sword.”

Keith released his sword, shaking his head and backing away. “I know you,” he said. “You are  _good,_  Shiro.”

Shiro’s glowing eyes filled with tears, falling into the pool like so many crystals. “I thought it would be easier if I was not alone any longer,” he whispered. “But I was wrong. Farewell, Keith.”

Keith reached for him, but it was too late. Shiro was nothing but mist and sorrow.

Keith returned to the farm, stumbled through the door and into his mother’s arms, and Krolia held him tightly for though they rarely embraced each other, when they did, it was when they truly needed it. “Hush, my son,” she said. “Say the word, and I will lend you my blade.”

But Keith shook his head, pressing his cheek to her armored breast. “For once, this cannot be solved with a blade.”

And Krolia understood, and stroked his hair and sighed, “Oh, Keith. Anyone who has your love is blessed more than they could ever know.”

Keith wept in her arms.

Keith did not return to the vale; his heart couldn’t bear it. So Shiro stayed among the mist and trees, trying and failing to convince himself he had done what must be done, until one golden dusk, a hooded woman crossed onto his mountain from the northern kingdom.

“Stop,” Shiro said, speaking through the rolling fog and dark stone. “Who are you?”

The woman threw back her hood. “I recognize you and your magic,” she said. “You may act the guardian but we both know it is a lie. You are of Galra. Return to us.” Her hands alit with purple flame.

Shiro recoiled. “I will die before you turn my magic against this kingdom.”

“Then die you shall,” she said, “and know if you had ceded to the mercy of Empress Honerva, then you would have been the most powerful being on earth.” The violet flame exploded into a blinding inferno.

From his palace tower, Keith saw the night illuminated by the purple flare atop the mountain, then all went dark. His stomach twisted with cold dread, and once his nightly knightly duties were done, he fetched Red from the stable and flew to Shiro’s vale.

From the air, Keith saw the smoking desolation where the perfect vale once stood. The charred earth welcomed him, and he nearly fell from the saddle, staring in horror at the empty pool and flopping remains of fish, the peach tree burnt beyond recognition and split in two.

Then his gaze fell beyond the mountain, to the huge Galran army gathering at its base, bonfires burning and armor gleaming. Keith did not weep. He set his jaw, eyes bright with bitter vengeance, mounted Red, and left the Champion to tell the king of his kingdom’s impending doom.

At the palace, Alfor hastily gathered his troops, with Keith at their head. “Where is the guardian?” they murmured. “Why has he abandoned us?”

“The guardian is dead,” Keith said. The knights looked to him in alarm and fear. Keith looked back with dark fury. “Only we remain.”

The Galran army came in waves, surging towards the palace and leaving trails of destruction in their wake. They just kept coming. Keith’s armor turned red w blood and still the flood of enemies did not cease. It was less of a war and more of a massacre.

But Keith pressed on, imagining how Shiro must have died, alone and defiant in the face of evil. He could not let Shiro’s sacrifice be in vain. He could not fail his kingdom. As his knights fell, Keith rose up on Red, slashing through the Galran ranks, felling hundreds more.

It was only when the Galra reached the palace gates that Keith realized it was hopeless. Altea was overrun, and the Galran soldiers kept rising to fight despite impossible wounds, and beneath their armor they reeked of rot and dark magic. Not even revenge could defeat such an enemy.

But King Alfor would not surrender. He fell as the palace gates did, and Keith fought to reach his king’s body, escaping the horde on Red by the skin of his teeth. He brought Alfor to the palace courtyard, where Princess Allura was guarded by Alfor’s most trusted knights and Krolia.

Allura cried out when she saw her father and covered her mouth, a single tear sliding down her cheek. “It’s over, then,” she whispered, and unsheathed her knife. “We must kill as many as we can before we meet the same fate as my father. They will spare none of us, least of all me.”

But Keith had not spent half his life serving the Princess only for her to be murdered. So he bade Red farewell, passed her reins to Krolia, and said, “Take the Princess far away. Be safe.”

“And what of you?” Krolia asked, though in her heart she already knew she was losing him.

“I am a knight,” Keith said.

“You are my son first,” Krolia said.

“Goodbye, mother,” Keith said, and hugged her tight. “Goodbye, Princess.”

“No!” Allura shouted. “Keith, I order you to stay by my side!”

“I cannot,” Keith said. “I love you both very much.” And he walked away.

Sword drawn, Keith faced the Galra alone. From their snarling mass, another lone figure stepped, hooded cloak swirling behind her. Her hands alit with purple flame. “The last line of defense,” she mocked. “It is a wonder Altea did not fall to us sooner.”

Keith said nothing, and raised his sword. The woman sneered, lifting her fiery hands, only to freeze as Keith began to glow as if from within. All at once, Keith was filled with impossible, inhuman strength and determination, and he realized Shiro had given him more than just Red.

Keith’s sword burst into golden flame and the woman’s eyes widened. “Kill him,” she ordered. “The guardian’s magic lives on in him!”

Keith cut through the undead soldiers like butter, and this time they stayed dead. But they were unending, and eventually the magic began to fade. Keith could barely lift his sword by the time he reached the woman, though most of her army lay lifeless in his wake.

“End this,” Keith ordered. “Haven’t enough lives been lost? Altea is in ruins. You have nothing left to conquer but ash and bone.”

“That is enough,” she said grimly, and raised her hand.

Keith fell to a slash of violet lightning, and did not get back up. Satisfied, the hooded woman moved on, walking towards the palace through a sea of corpses.

As dawn crept over the gray horizon, Keith stirred. A single horse plodded through the battlefield, and stopped beside Keith, nosing at his hair. It shied away when Keith sat up, clutching his singed and bloodied chest and looking through hazy eyes towards the dark mountain peak.

Keith graced himself upright, fumbling to reach the horse’s bloodied saddle. The spooked creature broke into a ragged gallop, and Keith clung on, vision fading in and out. The mountain felt an eternity away, but as the sun dipped below the horizon again, Keith smelled familiar smoke.

Shiro’s vale lay before him, quiet and empty, and this time Keith did fall from the saddle. He crawled through the ashes to the looming stone lion, and curled with an exhausted sigh between its great paws. “The battle was lost,” he whispered. “I failed, Shiro.” He closed his eyes.

It did not take long before Keith breathed his last breath, bleeding and bleeding onto the stone, head lolling into the lion’s mane, body slumping into death.

But as his blood touched the stone, a curious thing happened.

For all her power, Empress Honerva was unable to kill Shiro, so instead she locked him away with the strongest curse she knew, one only broken by a true love’s blood. And surely no one could ever love a being such as Shiro, much less sacrifice themselves for him...or so she thought.

And so it was that Shiro awakened an emerged from the endless shadowy cell she had cast him into, and the first thing he saw in the world of the living was Keith dead at his altar, a soft, sad smile on his beautiful, cold face.

A great wind tore across the ruined vale as Shiro approached him, grief and anger swirling tight and sharp all around him. For the first time in centuries, Shiro was tempted to rise up and smite the world, to raze the land and all its people as he was meant to do.

But then a soft, dry blossom fell into Shiro’s outstretched, half-curled fist. It was a peach blossom, and it crumbled delicately to dust in his hand, and all at once Shiro fell over Keith, and wept, wishing he had driven Keith away from the start yet knowing he never could have.

As Shiro wept, the stone altar burst open with flowering vines and mist curled around Keith, piercing the cracks in his fine armor until the metal fell away from Keith’s skin, baring his still body to Shiro’s heartbroken embrace and twisting mist, which crept slowly past his lips.

Weeping, Shiro kissed him, pouring every bit of the goodness he’d forged within himself into his true love. And his mist, which was meant to bring sickness and death, sighed into the darkness of Keith’s throat and surrounded his stopped heart, squeezing tight and pleading,  _breathe, live._

Vines crept up Keith’s chest and wove together the broken spaces of ragged wounds and bloodied flesh as Shiro kissed him, for Shiro knew nothing of healing but everything of Keith, and he knew that if he failed to heal Keith, there would be no more flowers, no more vale, no more joy. But most of all Shiro knew that he had been human once, and Keith made him feel human anew, made him remember, in warm bright beats like butterfly wings, how it was to feel and to love, not as one loves a kingdom in detached obligation, but as one loves a person with all their heart.

Shiro gathered Keith up, wading into the pool, which filled with blue steaming water as Shiro stepped upon the dry earth. With every step, the vale bloomed into color and life, and Shiro grew in form and power until Keith was too small to kiss, and Shiro lowered him into the water.

The pool swallowed Keith up, though Shiro kept Keith cupped in his hands, loathe to let him go again. Underwater, Keith was pale and ghostly, black hair rippling like bleeding ink, dark wounds knitting together into thin silver lines under Shiro’s determined eye.

And as the sun spilled molten gold over the mountain peak and into the shadowy pool, Keith’s eyes opened slowly, then all at once, and he surged upwards with the wild, stubborn spirit Shiro so adored, breaking the placid surface of the water with a shocked gasping cry.

The first thing he saw was Shiro, standing above him with a fond, glowing gaze in all his glory, haloed by the rising sun. This time, Keith did not flinch away, and he did not even think of his sword. He thought only of sunshine, and Shiro.

“I missed you,” Keith said.

“I love you,” Shiro said, and laughed when Keith squawked in surprise, then fell silent in awe as Shiro lifted him out of the water and into the air, up and up and up, until they were eye to eye.

“I love you, too,” Keith whispered, suddenly shy.

“Oh, Keith,” Shiro sighed, and kissed Keith’s brow carefully, and Keith chased his lips, and Shiro had to shrink down to a more human - but not quite human - size for fear of crushing him in his eagerness to hold Keith and kiss him everywhere as he had so desperately longed for.

When Keith kissed him, it was like coming home, and someday, Shiro thought, he would rain bitter vengeance down upon those who had hurt them, but for now, he would hold Keith in his arms, kissing him breathless in the warm pool in the secret vale, making soft and unbreakable vows. And so Shiro sweetly took Keith apart and put him back together again under the moonlight and shining stars as witness, and Keith shouted praises turned pleas, echoing across the mountaintop, as Shiro worshiped him, inside and out, at long last.

Across the sea, Red lifted her head, as if hearing a familiar voice. And when she returned years later with the remaining Alteans and their princess turned queen on a ship led by a roguish captain named Lance, the kingdom was lush and alive, and the Champion stood tall, ever vigilant.

And though the Red Knight and his guardian became a martyr and legend, those who later made the pilgrimage to the Champion’s vale to pay their respects would find two peaceful and beautiful young men, sitting together under a blooming peach tree, faces full of love.

the end.

 


	6. dragon keith admires knight shiro like the treasure he is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i think the title says it all.......compilation of [THIS THREAD](https://twitter.com/saltyshiro/status/1083603621437009921).....
> 
> warnings: monsterfucking, somnophilia, overstim, mild dubcon but turns out a-ok!

Keith watches the sleeping human curiously. He’s wound up too tight, Keith thinks, sitting on his haunches with his head cocked to the side. Keith can see it in the lines starting to form on his handsome brow and at the corners of his eyes, his eyes which are always too somber.

Sir Shirogane does not allow himself simple pleasures; that much is clear. Keith likes simple pleasures, and he thinks he knows at least one that the human will also enjoy. He only hesitates for a moment before crouching down beside him, sniffing until he’s content that Sir Shirogane is deep in sleep. Keith does not wish to startle him. The knight’s very sharp sword is still within arm’s reach. Frowning at it, Keith pushes the cold metal far away with a claw, and settles down to the ground so he can nudge Sir Shirogane onto his back.

The knight doesn’t react, his breathing is still heavy, so Keith proceeds as planned and slides down Sir Shirogane’s trousers with two claws. They’re loose – has he been eating properly? 

Keith makes a mental note to fetch him a large breakfast of eggs and venison in the morning before lowering his head to examine the newly revealed flesh. Ah, good, it’s familiar; albeit smaller. Keith can take both forms of the human sex, and he had been pretty certain that Shiro would have a cock, but didn’t want to assume. 

It’s a very nice cock. Large for a human, and it’s already filling out. Keith puffs out a pleased breath that ruffles the thick, dark trail of hair the knight’s cock is nested in, and Shiro shifts, brow furrowing. Sensitive, good.

Keith exhales again, experimental, watching as water droplets from his breath form on the knight’s muscled thighs and rousing flesh. Keith decides he might as well just get Shiro’s trousers out of the way, and is pleased with this choice – the knight is well-proportioned all over, strongly built, strong enough for Keith to take him without shifting, he thinks. But not yet. Keith wants to relax him, first. He may never have had a draconic mate of his own, but the instincts are still there. Is it strange to consider a human as a candidate for his mate?

Keith doesn’t know, but he does know he loves the taste that blooms on his tongue as he laps and nuzzles at the head of Sir Shirogane’s cock. It’s shocking how quickly the flesh hardens once he applies his tongue to it, and Keith settles easily into the task, dragging his tongue over the veiny sides and strange dark little tip that emerges from the sheath of skin with great enthusiasm. 

He may be salivating a bit too much – it’s making a mess on the knight’s thighs and the dark sac below his cock – but Shiro is enjoying it, if his soft, hitched moans and parting lips are any indication. Keith’s rump wiggles happily, and he’s vaguely aware that his own cock is emerging from its protective sheath. He can’t help it, having his nose so close to the knight’s arousal is intoxicating.

So the moment Sir Shirogane’s scent changes, Keith rears back, startled and confused.    
  
The knight awakes with a ragged gasp, bolting upright and staring, first at the dragon between his legs, then at his swollen, wet cock. His mouth falls open in horror.

Keith, realizing he must have done something wrong, cowers as best he can, eyes wide and wings folded protectively at his sides. He still towers over the knight.   
  
“You...” Sir Shirogane whispers, his hands shaking badly. “What...were you doing to me?!”

Keith whines low in his throat, ears and wings drooping. “Giving you pleasure,” he says. “It always feels good when I do it to myself, so, I thought, it would make you feel better, too –”

“You do this to yourself?” Sir Shirogane breathes, and Keith’s eyes narrow. His scent is frightened, yes, but still aroused. Hmm. Humans are complicated creatures, indeed.

“Well, yes,” Keith says, a bit less intimidated, taking a slow step closer. Sir Shirogane hurries to try and cover himself, though it’s a rather useless endeavor, considering his thighs and the space between are still soaked. “You’re going to ruin your pants,” Keith points out.

Sir Shirogane falters. He gulps, gaze drifting to Keith’s underbelly. “Keith...are you attracted to me?” He looks terrified at the very notion.   
  
Hurt by his obvious horror, Keith pretends to consider it. “Maybe. You are strong and handsome and kind, and I like how your cock tastes.”

Sir Shirogane’s face turns violently red. “I care about you,” he adds. “I noticed that your trousers do not quite fit. You need to take better care of yourself.”    
  
“Oh,” Shiro whispers. “Keith, um. Humans don’t...it’s not er, okay to...do that to someone while they’re sleeping.”

Keith frowns. “It isn’t?” he says. “Why not? You liked it. Besides, I have smelled your attraction to me on previous occasions. You got aroused yesterday when we were bathing. But you never took care of it yourself. So I wanted to help.”

Shiro splutters. “M-me? Attracted? To – you? A dragon?”    
  
Shiro has been with Keith for several weeks now, as Queen Allura has required of him. Shiro’s purpose is to make peace with the folk in the Galra hills, and that includes the strange dragon who saved him from certain death.

Keith wilts. “I am not so ugly that it merits derision...am I?”   
  
And if Shiro is being honest, no. Keith isn’t ugly by any standard of the word. There is a reason humans erected grand statues and painted murals of Keith’s kind. Dragons are beautiful, breathtakingly so.

But he is still a fucking dragon, Shiro thinks, a little desperately. Albeit one who has shared his home with Shiro, told him everything he wishes to know about the Galra, and...shit.   
  
Shiro opens his mouth, then closes it. “You’re not human,” he says in a very tiny voice.

Keith sits back on his haunches, trying to understand why this is a problem. Sir Shirogane averts his gaze from Keith’s still half-unsheathed cock, face as red as Keith’s scales. “What does that matter?” Keith asks. “It isn’t against your knightly code...is it?”   
  
It is not.

In fact, come to think of it, there are many stories of dragons and knights forming deeply intimate bonds. But Shiro never thought that meant...oh, dear.    
  
“Are you quite alright?” Keith asks, smoke curling from his nostrils.   
  
“I’m having a crisis,” Shiro wheezes.

Keith starts forward in alarm. “There is no need for crisis!” he exclaims. “It is just...” He lowers his head, and if dragons could pout, Keith would be. “You have been working so hard, and I worry...” He glances up, eyes dark. “It is alright to be a little selfish sometimes, Shiro.”

“Coming from a dragon,” Shiro mutters, heart pounding as Keith approaches again, eyes intent. “Infamously greedy creatures that you are-“   
  
Keith’s breath is hot and sulfurous over him. “Greedier than men? Oh, I think not.”

Shiro’s breath catches. He can see the glint of gold out of the corner of his eye; Keith’s hoard, as strange yet endearing and, yes, beautiful, as he is.    
  
Keith follows his gaze. “Or maybe you want me to be greedy,” he purrs. “Do you want me to make you my treasure, knightling?”

Shiro closes his eyes. “I just want to come,” he admits, and shivers at the smug sound of Keith’s laughter above him, so near, shaking the cave like tiny earthquakes.   
  
“That can be arranged,” Keith promises. Shiro stills as Keith’s shadow falls over him, and he cracks his eyes open.

“Only if you like,” Keith adds in a low rumble, eyes bright with genuine concern. “If I am too strange for you...I can shift, or there is a village a mile north, with many pretty humans - oh!”   
  
Shiro has just kissed the curved tip of Keith’s red muzzle. Keith blinks, cross-eyed.

“I don’t know why I did that,” Shiro says.   
  
“I’m glad you did,” Keith whispers, looking a bit stunned. “It was very cute.”   
  
“Cute?!” Shiro exclaims. “I am hardly -“   
  
“Yes, yes, the bravest knight in the land,” Keith coos, and Shiro shudders as he exhales over his cock again.

“I mean that,” Keith adds, tongue flickering out. “You are brave and kind and good...” His claws snag on Shiro’s tunic, dragging it upwards, and when Shiro fumbles to untie it Keith’s purr deepens. “And handsome.” The fabric falls away, and Shiro sits back on his elbows, naked and nervous.

“Relax,” Keith says, nearly a growl, and nudges him down with a leathery clawed...hand? Paw? Shiro squeezes his eyes shut and flops onto his back helplessly, breath shallowing when Keith’s tongue brushes curiously over his chest. Its wet, textured surface catches on Shiro’s nipples.

Shiro’s moan trembles in the air between them and Keith draws back, head tilted. “You are sensitive all over, then,” he observes, eyeing the dark, peaking nubs and Shiro’s rehardening cock. “Good to know.” He licks again, firmer, and Shiro squirms at the alien sensation breathlessly.

“That isn’t gonna make me come,” Shiro gasps, arching as Keith’s tongue flexes into a firmer point, rubbing over Shiro’s nipples relentlessly. Keith’s violet eyes glower, and then there’s a flexible tailtip wrapping around his half-hard cock, the scaled end sliding over his slit.

Shiro shouts in surprise and almost-pain at the harsh stroke, and Keith draws back, tail uncurling, only to lunge for his wrists, tail holding them fast over his head, even the right one, which ripples with strong magic. “Patience,” Keith murmurs, a haze of smoke surrounding them.

“You don’t look very patient,” Shiro manages, gaze fixed between Keith’s crouched back legs, where his cock stands stiff, a swollen plum-red, dripping audibly onto the dark stone floor.    
  
Keith shuffles awkwardly, avoiding eye contact, and licks Shiro’s cock without warning.

Shiro’s lungs burn with the strangled sounds he makes, and he’s glad for Keith’s restraints, bc the way he flails and kicks as Keith’s tongue slithers around his cock in all its drooling glory is unseemly. Shiro has to close his eyes again at the sight of Keith devouring his cock.

Then Keith starts humming, or growling; either way Shiro is twitching into orgasm within minutes, cock spurting into the dragon’s eager maw embarrassingly fast. Shiro slumps, panting and staring glassy-eyed at the ceiling, but Keith doesn’t move away. He just keeps licking.

“K-eith,” Shiro gasps, “please — wait — it’s too much —“   
  
Keith lifts his head, eyes glittering, thick strands of saliva connecting his tongue to Shiro’s struggling, softening cock even when it curls away.   
  
“You taste good,” he rumbles. “I want more.”

Shiro stares up at him wildly, chest heaving, and Keith’s head bows until they’re nose to snout. “As divine as the taste of you is,” Keith murmurs, “your pleasure is even moreso. Tell me to stop, and I shall.”   
  
Shiro reaches out, shining scarlet scales flashing gold at his touch.

“Don’t stop,” he whispers, even as his cock throbs with arousal edging on pain, Keith’s claws delicately tracing so many veins.    
  
“Your wish is my command,” Keith sighs, and his tongue plunges past Shiro’s half-parted lips in a sinuous mass of dripping heat.

It’s like tasting sunshine. Sunshine that sets Shiro’s very blood aflame in the best way, energy and heat coursing through him to the core. Keith’s tongue fills his mouth, his throat, and Shiro opens to it hungrily, eyes rolling back in his head and cock ten times harder than before.

Keith licks more gently, eyes half-lidded. When he pulls back, Shiro’s head swims with hazy, hot desire. “It’s an aphrodisiac,” Keith chuckles, licking sweetly at Shiro’s lips, the taste lingering like honey; Shiro chases it. Keith’s gaze darts down. “Seems to be working.”

Shiro groans, hips arching, desperate for contact. His cock swells between muscled thighs, and Keith’s soft laughter follows it, but this time, the dragon nudges his thighs open and knees up, licking over the heavy seam of his balls and down, til tingling warmth teases at Shiro’s rim.

“Keith,” Shiro growls, toes curling as Keith’s tongue presses inwards, not quite breaching, but giving enough pressure that Shiro can guess at the stretch when it does enter him. But Shiro isn’t thinking about Keith’s tongue. He stares at Keith’s hanging, dripping cock, and whines.

“Fuck me,” Shiro begs.   
  
Keith’s ears flick up and he grins, tongue lolling. “Should’ve known the great Sir Shirogane would strive for the impossible in all things, as you do in all your legends.”   
  
Shiro blinks thru the fog of lust. “Wait. You’ve read my legends?”   
  
“Uh,” Keith says.

Shiro’s mouth falls open. “You knew about me before we met -“   
  
“Yes, I know all about you,” Keith babbles, hunching his wings, “the tales of your adventures are extraordinary, and I couldn’t help it, when I heard you were coming to the hills I sought you out and-“   
  
“Saved my life.”

“It was nothing, really,” Keith mumbles.   
  
“And you’ve given me utter hospitality. Gave me food and coin from your hoard and a warm bed and...” Shiro gestures vaguely, face hot, “all THIS.”   
  
“If you do not stop talking I will be forced to take drastic measures,” Keith squeaks loudly.

“You gave me an ancient ceremonial greatsword enchanted with the most powerful runes I’ve ever seen!” Shiro splutters.   
  
Keith hesitates, looking very bashful. “I would give you every piece of my hoard if it meant your safety and success and happiness, Sir Shirogane.”

The fog of lust hits Shiro again full force, this time coupled by shocking fondness. “Oh, gods,” Shiro breathes, “have you been courting me?”   
  
“Drastic measures, my lord,” Keith announces, strangled, and shoves his tongue inside of Shiro without further fanfare.    
  
Shiro  _ wails. _

The salt-musk-heat taste of human is far more appealing than it has any right to be, Keith thinks blearily, licking into Sir Shirogane’s clenching body until strong muscles loosen and give and the knight’s shocked expression crumples into bliss. So maybe Keith  _ was _ courting him. Oops.

But it’s folly to think Sir Shirogane would ever settle for a creature like himself, a creature knights are far more fond of slaying than laying with. Though Shiro seems rather fond of it now, twisting and moaning as he is, cock dribbling over his belly as Keith finds his prostate.   
  
Folly or not, Keith wants, badly, to make Sir Shirogane feel good; a bit selfishly, he wants to make Sir Shirogane feel better than any human ever has, or could. The thought of any human touching his knight makes him growl, tongue rubbing and writhing within, and Shiro keens.

The sounds of Shiro crying out Keith’s name, echoing thru his cave, are pretty ones indeed. Keith closes his eyes, letting himself get lost in the soft, sweet give of Shiro’s body under his tongue, letting sharp fangs scrape over tender thighs just so, never enough to truly hurt.

Shiro’s thick and reddened cock weeps pearly white as Keith’s wriggling tongue finds his prostate again and again. Keith marvels at how wide Shiro is stretched open, how he pleads for more even still, legs spread as wide as they will go. Perhaps the impossible is possible after all.

But Keith wants to finish him this way, first. So he licks and licks until Shiro’s inner thighs are slick and shining and whenever Shiro’s moans taper off, Keith drags teasing claws over sweating skin until pink lines raise, and circles Shiro’s leaking cockhead slow and wicked.

By the time Shiro comes again, he is marked with careful scratches and shuddering uncontrollably, the fire of arousal still shining in his tear-filled eyes. Keith laps up his spilled seed before it can dry, reveling in the taste, then returning to Shiro’s slack mouth so he can try.

Shiro moans and sucks on his tongue and Keith’s cock aches between his back legs, trapped against hard scale and cold stone. The thought of the knight’s pretty pink mouth on him is tempting, but Keith shoves it away. He will not resort to some rutting beast now. Shiro deserves better.

“How do you feel?” Keith asks as he draws away, the knight trying to chase his mouth, face flushed and frantic.    
  
“Empty,” Sir Shirogane whines, and rolls onto his front, sticking his ass up until Keith cannot look away from the sight of his puffy hole, spit rendering it soft and open.

Keith whimpers low in his throat, sitting back on his haunches and staring as Shiro takes himself in hand with messy strokes, moaning and reaching back to spread spit-slicked cheeks open. Keith’s cock throbs.   
  
Truth be told, in his centuries of life, Keith has never done this before.

He’s laid w humans and dragons alike in his human form, but never like this, and like this it is somehow so much MORE. Keith’s instincts thrum in his throat like ready flames, the instinct to feed, to fight, to flee, to fuck, to  _ KEEP, _ all tangling into one white-hot need for Shiro.

Shiro twists under Keith, arching up, pleading to the dragon with his body. It’s been too long since he relinquished control like this, and never to a being that could so easily destroy him. But Keith is kind, touches him like smth precious and desired, and Shiro craves more of him.

Even if Keith destroys him in the process. Shiro’s cock hangs heavy and aching, balls drawn taut and too full, and yet Keith hesitates, breath labored behind him. Shiro glances back, moaning at the sight - Keith is panting, cock squeezed tight in his tail’s clutches, visibly throbbing.

The dragon towers over him, and Shiro has faced many a formidable and monstrous enemy, and Keith is big enough to rival many of them, but Shiro feels no fear.    
  
“Keith,” he coos, pillowing his head on his forearm and rolling his hips, drawing another whimper from the dragon’s throat.

Keith growls then, and surges up, coming down hard with a clawed hand on either side of Shiro’s head, hot breath and snout snuffling at the nape of his neck, drool dripping in thick strands over Shiro’s back, and then the hard, huge nudge of Keith’s cock between his parted thighs.

“Hold still,” Keith warns, fangs grazing his ear. Shiro freezes as a cold claw prods at his hole, sliding in without resistance. Shiro feels its curved, near-metallic hardness in him, and shivers violently, thinking Keith could gut him alive, and Shiro wouldn’t even try to stop him.

But Keith doesn’t gut him. Keith’s tongue wraps around Shiro’s throat, claw working in and out of him in loud squelches. Shiro pleads, voice breaking, to come, and Keith’s claws surround his cock in a cold cage; Shiro’s cum splatters his palm when a clawtip crooks over his prostate.

Keith lifts his palm to Shiro’s mouth and Shiro licks sticky white away, gasping as Keith’s claw withdraws, leaving Shiro so empty and aching he could cry; hell, maybe he is crying, cock pulsing thru it, hole clenching around nothing. Keith growls; then Shiro is lifted into the air.

“What-!” Shiro squeaks, squirming in his firm grasp. Keith carries him across the cave, towards the shining hoard of gold and rare magical artifacts, bringing Shiro to a large, lavish velvet pillow, where he lays him down carefully on his stomach.   
  
“Good?” Keith rumbles above him.

“Yes,” Shiro breathes, rolling onto his side to catch Keith’s jaw as he noses at Shiro’s hair, scaled throat rumbling happily. “Yes, yes, yes.”   
  
“My treasure,” Keith murmurs. His cock ruts on Shiro’s ass, and the slick pink tip wriggles over his hole like it has a mind of its own.

Keith’s cock searches for tight heat and finds it, the very tip easing past Shiro’s rim, forcing him wider, splitting his ass around the fat unsheathed crown, which begins leaking thick precum in earnest as soon as it enters Shiro.   
  
“Ah,” Shiro gasps, sound punched out of him.

It takes every ounce of self control Keith has not to drive his cock fully into Shiro’s pliant, needy body. His ass is so tight that Keith despairs at lasting much longer; every convulsion of Shiro’s muscles feels like the human is trying to milk his cock. It’s delicious torture.

Shiro, meanwhile, is dying. Every inhuman ridge and bump and - oh, fuck, are those spines? - of Keith’s cock rubs at his oversensitized hole relentlessly. The tip is barely inside but Shiro feels stuffed, Keith’s tapered cock slowly thickening, girth taking Shiro’s breath away.

Shiro takes his cock like he was made for it. Keith is in awe. Later he’ll be ashamed of the savage snarl he lets out as the head of his cock slides home, and of the way he nuzzles and licks at Shiro’s flexing shoulders when Shiro cries out, but for now Keith is aware only of Shiro.

Every movement Keith makes is devastating to Shiro. He shifts his stance slightly and Shiro sobs, biting at the velvet and shuddering upwards, into the soothing touch of rough paws and opening his mouth as Keith’s tongue fills it again, fucking his mouth and ass in tandem.

Keith’s kissing turns sloppier as more of his dick forces its way in - Shiro whines and moans but does not resist, messy tears landing on Keith’s twisting tongue. They taste not of pain but of half-blind ecstasy, and Keith trembles with it, and gives into the urge to properly fuck him.

Most humans could not take a dragon’s cock, especially not one more swollen and aching to spill than Keith can ever remember, but Shiro is not most humans. He seems fragile under Keith but it is an illusion, muscle and sinew bulging taut and strong under the tender silk of his skin.

Keith thrusts as hard as he dares, and as he does so calls upon every bit of magic he knows, smothering Shiro with it, with blessing and protection and warmth and lust and love and bliss. Shiro keens, throwing back his head, and Keith vows to share his human form w Shiro if only to kiss him.

But for now, Keith crushes him against the velvet, warm scales sliding sinuously over Shiro’s scarred and arching back as Keith fucks him in earnest, until Shiro’s sounds turn broken and ragged when Keith’s cock finds his prostate and drags over it for a minute straight; Shiro writhes.

“I want,” Shiro gasps, voice hardly a voice at all, “Keith, please, please -“   
  
“Hush, sweet one,” Keith growls, his own breaths ragged as he chases his finish w painful slowness; this is about Shiro, not him. “Anything, for you.”   
  
“Harder,” Shiro groans, and Keith falters. “More!”

Perhaps the magic was a mistake. Shiro’s body thrums with power, with need, and Keith can feel it wrapped so tight and eager around his cock, which swells at Shiro’s words, wrenching a sharp cry from the knight’s lips. “Feels so good,” Shiro babbles, “better than anyone else-“

Keith snarls helplessly, hitching his hips forward, cock sinking into the knight’s body until Keith can see the visible outwards bulge of his stomach, and grits his teeth against the possessive delight bubbling up in his gut. “Who else took you like this?” Keith demands.

Shiro sucks in hiccuping breaths blurring with moans and curses. Keith pulls out when he doesn’t reply, and the knight whimpers, louder when Keith rolls him onto his back with claws that bring bright beads of blood to the surface. Shiro’s cock jumps against his belly, and Keith purrs.

“Other knights,” Shiro admits, brow creasing and lips quivering. “After feasts, and hunts, we would -“   
  
“You would let them fuck you,” Keith finishes in a growl, claws splayed over Shiro’s spread thighs, holding him open. His hole is gaping, winking greedily around nothing.

“Or I would fuck them,” Shiro pants, “but nothing like this, like you - please, keep fucking me -“   
  
Keith’s cock enters him obligingly, this time nearly to the hilt. Shiro’s cock spurts instantly, then again when Keith licks it clean and fucks Shiro til his words turn to gibberish.

When Keith comes, it is to the sound of Shiro’s mewling moans of his name, and to the sensation of impossible tight heat trapping his cock deep inside as he spills, filling Shiro til white dribbles out onto the dark velvet, and Shiro’s cock manages one last valiant climax.

Keith takes care not to crush Shiro, wings settling around them in a secure canopy. Shiro sighs, reaching out and stroking the wine red wing clumsily. His sigh turns to a breathless moan as Keith pulls out, hungrily watching Shiro’s swollen belly and the resulting flood of cum.

Keith shakes himself, ashamed in the interim of his possessive streak rearing its ugly head, and as the white-hot sparking bliss of climax fades from his body like a last breath of flame he noses at Shiro worriedly, bc the knight is inert and twitches at each brush of Keith over him.

“Shiro?” Keith whispers, ears flattening against his skull and claws lifting from the knight’s flushed and sticky skin. “Oh, gods - did I kill you? Shiro!” Keith lowers his head and licks tentatively at the silvery cum oozing out of his quivering hole, as if trying to undo the damage.

Shiro lets out an inhuman sound and squirms away, eyes flying wide and mouth hanging open, curling into a shivering, overwhelmed ball. Keith hesitates, then lets his scales and wings fall away, shifting into his human form, one that can better comfort his shell shocked knightling.

But as Keith lays a soft human palm over Shiro’s shoulder, the knight makes a wounded sound, a shuddering groan that reverberates to Keith’s core. His eyes crack open, burning with unexpected want as they fix on Keith’s face.    
  
The aphrodisiac, evidently, has not yet worn off.

Reeling from the endorphins and heat still coursing through him, Shiro opens his eyes to see the most beautiful being in existence.   
  
Keith has only the dilation of the knight’s pupils as a warning before he’s tackled into a pile of his gold, coins scattering as Shiro kisses him silly.

Keith kisses back enthusiastically, dull nails scrabbling at the knight’s broad back, quite pleased at the sudden shift in size and power. Is this how Shiro feels under his dragon form? Huh.   
  
“You’re not dead!” Keith exclaims happily as Shiro pulls back to breathe and swear.

“No,” Shiro says, unable to stop gazing at him with open adoration, “not dead, tho you gave it your best shot.”   
  
Keith wilts. “I’m sorry,” he babbles, “I didn’t want to hurt you, I wanted to court you properly but you felt so good and looked so - oh!”   
  
Shiro kisses him, hard.

“So you WERE courting me,” Shiro hisses triumphantly against his lips, fingers curling tight into Keith’s long black hair and tugging playfully.   
  
Keith gasps, “I - ah - knew you’d never accept, so I wanted to try to show you what I feel for you, if you would let me...”

Shiro cradles his head in his warm hands, lips quirked, eyes intent. “And what,” he murmurs, “do you feel for me?”   
  
“Everything,” Keith breathes, gaze flicking from Shiro’s lips to his impossibly rousing cock. “Shiro...”   
  
“You showed me,” Shiro says, “now let me show you, Keith.”

Shiro kisses him like he is the sun, moon, and stars all in one, and Keith surrenders to the sweet press of his lips and the tender way Shiro touches his new form.   
  
“You’re beautiful,” Shiro tells him softly, “and kind, and clever, and brave, and I would gladly be yours, if you would be mine.”

Keith lies back upon the mound of gold, eyes shining, lips and legs parted in invitation. Keith slides his hand down, parting rose petal folds which grow slick and swollen under Shiro’s approving gaze, and teases at the dark hood of his clit, calling magic into them both once more.

“I’m all yours, Shiro,” Keith says with a smile, and tugs Shiro down in the kind of perfect embrace he has only ever dreamed of, hands turning half-claw and wings bursting from arching shoulders as Sir Shirogane, the best knight in all the land, slides home.

(and they both lived happily - albeit sore - ever after.)


	7. Yōkai AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> compilation of [THIS THREAD](https://twitter.com/saltyshiro/status/1091600288027267073)!!
> 
> warnings: uhhhh some kinda graphic violence and SPOOKY MAGIC (shocker, i know, doesn't sound like me at all)

Once upon a time in a pretty little forest near the sea, there lived a creature too beautiful to be kind who lured men into his den and ate their hearts when he was done with them.

Many a man had vowed to slay the creature, but every one of them met the same fate as the last, and over the centuries, the pretty little forest was known as cursed, and no one, man or woman or child, ventured into it, for fear of death by the creature who had killed so many before. 

It was by accident, then, that after one hundred years of solitude, the lone survivor of a terrible shipwreck washed up on the shores of the pretty little forest, barely conscious and badly injured, with a length of rope tangled too tight around his right arm, turning all the flesh there numb and necrotic. He had been adrift at sea for many days, and when he at last felt wet sand against his skin and smelled the warm lushness of the earth, he thought he must have died at last.

He lay there, drifting in and out of nothing, until a shadow fell over him, the shadow of a young, pale thing with inky hair and eyes like the sea at sunrise. The creature was clothed in a single black garment like liquid shadow, and knelt in the sand before him, lifting up the dying sailor’s head by a fistful of hair, which turned white as bone where his slender fingers touched it.

“Who are you?” the creature asked, his beautiful face turned sharp by anger. “Why has the sea brought you to me?”

The man stared at him, remembering, distantly, tales of a creature too beautiful to be kind who lured men into his den and ate their hearts when he was done with them. “Takashi,” he rasped, and closed his eyes, for the creature’s face was so lovely it nearly hurt. 

“Takashi,” the creature repeated, and the air between them shivered, a magic that tugged strong and vicious at his chest, wrenching a gasp and a splatter of sea water from his startled lungs. He toppled face-first into the sand once more, shocked by the warm arms which caught him halfway. “You have given me your true name; a wise choice. Your death will come more swiftly than the less obedient others. I am not without mercy, despite what the stories say.”

And Takashi fainted to the sound of the creature’s laughter, dark and high as a hundred ringing bells, echoing through his head into strident nothingness.

*

When he awoke, he was not yet dead, and the surface underneath him was no longer wet sand, but soft and dry fabric, a cot of some sort. A cool draft passed over him, and he shivered, jolting into waking when he discovered his saltwater-drenched clothes had been stripped from his body, leaving him bare and vulnerable save for the thick black blanket draped over him.

His second discovery was that he was missing an arm. He sat up, slowly, for his head was filled with a strange fog not unlike drunkenness, and examined the scarred stump where his right arm had once been. The rope had been wrapped a few inches above the elbow, but the entire arm had been removed. It did not hurt. It did not feel like much of anything at all. He stared at it, swallowing back the lump lodging in his throat, thinking he ought to feel more. 

“Lay down.”

Compelled by an unseen force, he did, though gently, as if coaxed, not pushed. He lay there on his back, head cradled by a silk pillow, and stared at the dark ceiling, which was strung with little lanterns like dozens of fireflies. 

Gradually, he became aware of a presence crawling over him, weight settling atop his hips and milk-white thighs spreading on either side of his waist. The creature peered down at him, brushing his rough cheek with satin fingertips, and looked at him through dark lashes, pink lips curved in a vague approximation of a smile. “You’re awake,” the creature said, voice more human than he remembered. 

“Yes,” Takashi said. “You saved my life.”

The creature’s beautiful face pinched and crumpled. “I did not save you,” he snapped. “Merely prolonged the inevitable.”

“My death?” 

“Nevermind death,” the creature said, and grabbed Takashi’s hand, pressing his palm to a soft thigh. “I know what you want.”

Takashi blinked up at him, head still foggy, transfixed by the creature’s fierce gaze. “I want to thank you,” he said earnestly, and the creature bared its teeth at him. They were ivory knives, carved as finely as any Takashi had ever seen. 

“Do not,” the creature gritted out, “thank me.”

“But I owe you a great debt,” Takashi protested, and the creature recoiled. 

“A debt! No!” The creature scrambled off of him. “You owe me nothing but blood — !”

“If blood is what you wish of me, then I will gladly give it,” Takashi told him. “You saved my life, and so if ever you are in need of the same, I will save yours. This, I swear to you.”

“No!” screeched the creature again, backing away as if Takashi might lunge and strike him at any moment. “How dare you make vows to me! They mean nothing! You will break it!”

“I will not,” Shiro said, frowning deeply. “Who has broken vows to you in the past? They must have very little honor.”

“Men do not have honor,” the creature spat. “You will be no different.” But he looked rather uncertain.

“Is that why you killed them?” he asked the creature.   
  
Takashi peered at him with hazy defiance, the confused fog of his mind leaving no room for fear. All his survival instincts were used up in the shipwreck; if death wanted him it would have taken him already.

But the creature looked very afraid indeed, and tried to disguise his fear with a cold sneer. “I killed them because they brought me pleasure and blood,” he snarled, “but you have brought me nothing. Go. Now!”    
  
All at once the fog melted away from Shiro, and so did the creature’s den.

So the one-armed sailor, whose true name was Takashi but who was called Shiro by all who knew him, wandered through the dark trees which seemed to part before him, making a path to lead him to the nearest village; re-forming into tangled branches & thorns as soon as he was out.

All of the villagers, who feared the pretty little forest and the cursed creature who called it home, saw Shiro’s white hair, scarred body, and missing arm, and came to their own conclusions about what had caused these things. They told him, with much wonder and awe, that he was the only man who had escaped that place with his life.

Months passed, and as Shiro settled in to life in the village, the other men of the village began to plot revenge. If a man had survived the creature in the forest, then perhaps the creature was mortal; perhaps it could be killed. And if it could be killed, they intended to do so.

Eventually, Shiro learned of their plans, for they were boastful, loud men, and made a show of sharpening their swords and fashioning a net of thick rope studded with cruel iron spikes.    
  
The men asked Shiro if it was a hideous demon or evil spirit, but he claimed he had not seen it. No one believed this, however they concluded it must have torn his memory away to shield its monstrous true form.

“What will you do with it if you catch it?” Shiro asked the men.   
  
“Whatever that thing did to our fathers and grandfathers, we will do ten times over,” the men swore with grim and vengeful resolve. “Only when it is good and dead will our village be truly safe.”

“But it has been a century,” Shiro said, “and it has harmed none of you.”   
  
The men willfully ignored this. They had grown up with tales of the terror of the forest, and seized the chance to claim power over that terror at long last. They wanted the forest and its cursed creature for their own.

The men left the village for the pretty little forest on a night bright with moonlight, carrying torches and swords and axes and their cruel net. Shiro watched from a window, hesitant. Perhaps they would fail. Perhaps they would not find the creature with the sunset eyes and sharp teeth.

He clung to this hope though dread coiled like a cold serpent in his belly, and lunged into waking when a high, terrified, furious cry split the night at half past midnight.   
  
The men returned to the village with their wriggling prey in the cruel net. Shiro watched from the window.

The men brought the struggling, crying creature into the temple and gathered outside, scheming among themselves as they decided how best to make the creature pay.    
  
Shiro slipped away from his window and when no one was looking, crept in through the back of the dark temple, which echoed with awful screams.

As soon as Shiro entered the temple, the screams ceased. Golden eyes stared at him like twin suns from the darkness. The tile where the creature lay under the cruel net was slick and dark with its blood; the net had cut its milky skin in a hundred places.

“I owe you a debt,” Shiro said.   
  
The creature said nothing. Its golden eyes burned with a hatred drenched in bitter, centuries-old sorrow, so that the longer Shiro looked, the less it looked like hate, and the more it looked like heartbroken grief.   
  
Shiro reached for the net.

The iron caught on his hand as he fumbled with it. Outside, the men’s voices grew louder. 

The creature trembled, glancing between the great temple doors and Shiro’s attempts to free him with one hand without injuring him further.   
  
“You are too late,” the creature whispered. “Go.”

But Shiro had never been one for empty promises.   
  
“I will not leave you,” Shiro said firmly. “They will hurt you, humiliate you, and they will kill you.”   
  
“I know,” the creature said, face so young yet eyes ancient in their sadness. “They have done it before.”

Shiro did not understand, though as he stared at the bloodied creature he remembered a tale his mother had told him as a child, of ghosts trapped between realms, souls burdened by the unjust tragedies of their deaths, twisted into demons by their festering desire for vengeance.

But the creature did not look vengeful. It looked resigned. It stared at the temple doors and bowed its head, tangled black hair falling over its pale cheek as a rivulet of red ran down its fine jaw.    
  
Shiro paused. “Wait,” he said. “I offered you my blood. I offer it again, now.”

Golden eyes lifted to Shiro’s face, and widened when Shiro extended his forearm to where the creature’s claws were caught in the rope. “If it brings you strength, then take it,” Shiro said. “Take what you need to free yourself.”   
  
The creature hesitated, then slashed his arm open.

Shiro’s blood stained the creature’s claws and face but Shiro felt no pain, for he was transfixed by the brilliant silver light swirling from the stump of his right arm, forming a new limb, glowing like moonlight. His cut arm healed, and the creature slumped into unconsciousness.

It was easy, then, to toss the net away, for the moonlit limb was unharmed by the iron. Shiro at last worked the creature free of the cutting ropes and gathered its crumpled body close in his arms, carrying the creature out of the temple and into the night as the doors flung open and shouts of anger and dismay echoed through the empty temple.

Shiro did not stop running until he felt the cold sea wind stinging his face, and when he reached the black cliffs he picked his way down through the boulders with the limp creature held tight to his chest, until he found a cave tucked away just above the high and hungry tide.

He lay the creature down gently on the pebbles and untied the sash around his waist which drew his yukata closed. He wet it with saltwater in the small tide pools to clean the creature’s many cuts. Shiro was nearly done washing the red away when a clawed hand caught his left wrist.

The creature blinked up at him, taking in his surroundings silently, the secluded cave, the bloodied cloth in Shiro’s hands, his clean skin, the open front of Shiro’s yukata.    
  
“What is your name?” Shiro asked in the disbelieving quiet.   
  
“I was named Keith,” he whispered, “once.”

“Keith,” Shiro murmured. Keith shivered, drawing his strange black robes closer, though they were hopelessly torn up, exposing long swathes of skin to the cool cave air.   
  
“You should have left me there,” Keith said, & turned his face away, closing his eyes as if pained.

“I couldn’t,” Shiro said, brow furrowing. “You saved my life. I owed you a debt.” He shook his head. “Even if I hadn’t...”   
  
“That is a debt you could never truly repay,” Keith sighed softy. “My life was lost long ago, to a man very much like you, Takashi Shirogane.”

Shiro sat down beside him against the stone, and carefully took Keith’s cold, curled hands between his own. “You don’t feel like a ghost.”   
  
Keith’s eyes cracked open. “Not a ghost,” he said. “Worse.”   
  
“You don’t feel like a demon, either,” Shiro told him. He kissed Keith’s knuckles.

Keith’s lower lip trembled, revealing teeth that were no longer jagged knives.   
  
“You look like he did,” Keith whispered, clawed hands clasping Shiro’s slowly, “but you don’t make me feel like he did.”   
  
“He hurt you,” Shiro said.   
  
“He killed me,” Keith replied, and kissed him.

Keith tasted like blood and saltwater and Shiro couldn’t stop kissing him, eager hands exploring each other’s bodies with sudden urgency. Shiro managed to slip a hand inside Keith’s robes and Keith growled against his lips, leaning into the warmth of Shiro’s palm on his chest.

“The villagers will surely find us by morning, for this island is small,” Keith gasped, “so let us be quick, I want -“   
  
“They will not find us,” Shiro said, drawing back and pointing to the back of the cave. Keith followed his gaze to the kayak there. “I can take us home, Keith.”

Keith’s lovely, deadly face crumpled; he slumped in Shiro’s lap, helpless against his shoulder. “Home,” he repeated, disbelieving. “Oh,” he said, half to himself, “you do not make me feel like he did at all.”   
  
“How long has it been,” Shiro whispered, “since you felt cared for?”

Keith did not, could not, reply; he grabbed Shiro’s face in both hands and kissed the very breath from his chest, kissing harder when Shiro’s arms wrapped around him, harder still when Shiro dipped him down to the pebbled earth and sank his moonlit hand into Keith’s ink black hair.

“I will care for you,” Shiro promised in the hollow of his throat, dragging hot lips over cold collarbones. “You have been alone so long, alone and angry and afraid and hurt -”    
  
“I don’t want to hurt anyone else,” Keith gasped to the night, a plea Shiro answered with his tongue.

“Hush,” Shiro said, tracing kisses down his chest as he eased the torn robes open. “I will not hurt you. I will let no one else hurt you.” He kissed each cut and stroked Keith’s thighs apart, admiring every inch of him. “Let me take care of you,” Shiro said.   
  
“Yes,” Keith breathed.

Later, when Shiro’s face was wet and flushed and Keith was a pliant, writhing mess below him, he looked up, resting his cheek on Keith’s thigh, and asked, “Did you kill the man who took your life?”   
  
Keith hiccuped on a sob. “He was the first,” he said, pushing Shiro’s head back down.

“Good,” Shiro said after Keith came with a ragged cry of his name, only to wrestle Shiro down with a fierce and endearing determination, until Shiro was throwing back his head in a shaky gasp as Keith dragged clever claws over his neck, cooing curses and riding his cock 'til daybreak.

“It has been awhile,” Keith murmured against the shell of Shiro’s ear as sunlight crept into their cave, “since I have had anyone to take care of, either.”   
  
Shiro ached with exhaustion, yet satisfaction rippled through him like ocean waves. “Then we will take care of each other.”

“I could still kill you, as I did to all the others,” Keith reminded him idly. “I have lured you into my den; your heart is ripe for the taking.” His claws framed Shiro’s chest, over where his heart beat, and Shiro hummed as if in invitation.   
  
“You could,” Shiro agreed. “Will you?”

Keith shook his head after a moment, relaxing atop Shiro and closing his eyes. “Take me home,” he said, “far from this island of ghosts and blood and men.”   
  
“I will take you anywhere you wish,” Shiro promised, and kissed him as the rising sun kissed the endless sea.

  
  
the end.


End file.
